


Moonlit

by SilenceIsGolden15



Series: Urban Fantasy [7]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Burns, Gen, Hunters & Hunting, Hurt Keith (Voltron), Kidnapping, Pack Dynamics, Pack Feels, Redemption, Team as Family, Torture, Werewolf Hunk (Voltron), Werewolf Hunters, Werewolf Keith (Voltron), Werewolf Lance (Voltron), Werewolf Pidge | Katie Holt, Werewolf Shiro (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 09:05:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18989560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilenceIsGolden15/pseuds/SilenceIsGolden15
Summary: On the run from the hunters who attacked them, the pack try to keep themselves together. Acxa is having doubts.





	Moonlit

**Author's Note:**

> I promised you guys a sequel and lo! Here it is. Enjoy some more soft Pack feels.

In the chaos of the last few hours, Lance had managed to learn something new about himself. And that was that he absolutely hated road trips. 

They’d driven through the night, all of them taking shifts behind the wheel except for Shiro, who was serving as a pillow for the still mostly incoherent Keith. It was now 6:04 in the morning and Lance was watching the sunrise from his window, fidgeting at the pent up energy crackling through his veins. The full moon lurking just below the horizon, biding its time until sundown, wasn’t helping. 

But there was no point to complaining. They were on the run, and Shiro had already made it clear that they weren’t stopping until they were five states over, at least. 

“Would you stop squirming?” snapped Pidge, giving him a light kick in the ribs from where she lounged across the back row of seats. The others shifted, perking up a bit at the break in the humming, meditative silence that had built up. 

“Sorry,” Lance said petulantly. “Not all of us are small enough to stretch out as much as we want.”

Pidge kicked him again, angry words on the tip of her tongue, but before they could get into it Shiro spoke up. 

“Guys, enough,” he sighed, and Lance and Pidge exchanged chagrined looks. He sounded exhausted. “I know we’re all on edge from the full moon, and none of us want to be stuck in a car right now, but the last thing we need is bickering.”

Lance pouted and leaned his forehead against the cool glass, trying to ignore how he could still taste hints of copper between his teeth. 

“Speaking of which,” said Matt from the passenger seat, twisting around to look at Shiro, “what are we gonna do for the moon?”

Hunk, who was driving, chimed in, “According to the road signs, there’s a rest stop camping ground thing in a couple hundred miles. We could park there for the night.”

“Good idea, Hunk,” Shiro said, sounding relieved. 

Matt turned back around. “Hope no one else wanted to camp there.”

Lance let a breath out through his nose and closed his eyes. He’d been on the last driving shift from three to six a.m., and he was tired. But sleep wasn’t easy to find crammed against the side of a car. 

As the van retreated into silence again there was a bit of a rustling on his right. Then Pidge poked his shoulder. 

“Here.” She sat up and faced forward, freeing up the middle seat. There was a guilty expression on her face. “You can lay down.”

Lance gave her a little smile. “Thanks Pidgeon.” He loosened his seatbelt a bit, knowing Shiro wouldn’t be happy if he took it all the way off, and managed to find a position comfortable enough to doze in. 

He drifted off into an uneasy sleep, the taste of blood still tingeing his tongue.

* * *

 

It was warm. Really, really warm. Or at least the outside of him was. There was still a spot of cold in his chest like he’d swallowed a snowball whole.

The next thing he noticed as he swam towards wakefulness was the scents. Familiar and comforting, but tired. Tired and stressed. Without thinking he let out a whine, and he felt a large hand card through his hair in answer. 

“Hey, bud,” said a distant voice, “you with us?”

Finally he peeled his eyes open. Leaning over him was Shiro, brow furrowed in concern, and the part of him that had been pricking in panic smoothed over. 

“Mhm,” he managed to grunt, and Shiro smiled. 

“Good, good, feeling any better?”

He squirmed a bit in the blankets he’d been swaddled in. The pressure was nice, but his wolf was stirring. Was it the full moon already?

“Mm. A little.”

Shiro stroked his hair again. Keith leaned into it-- maybe too eagerly. 

“Think you can sit up for a few minutes? You should take some more of Allura’s medicine.”

Keith made a face at the memory of the sour concoction, which made Shiro chuckle a little. But he said yes, and Shiro helped him sit up. 

It wasn’t until then that he realized they were in the van, hurtling down a desolate freeway. Lance and Pidge were passed out in the last row, lying on top of each other, and Matt and Hunk were in the front, with Matt driving. 

“What time’s it?” he slurred as Shiro looked for something in the bag at his feet. 

Hunk was leaning up against his window and was apparently asleep, but Matt glanced in the rear-view mirror and grinned. 

“Hey, you’re up. It’s about nine.”

Keith struggled until his arms were free. The air was slightly cooler outside of the blanket bundle, but the glass bottle Shiro gave to him was warm in his palm. 

With a pre-emptive shudder, he took a swig, his face contorting in offense at the taste. Shiro laughed a little, but it sounded forced, and he refused it when Keith tried to hand the bottle back. 

“A couple more swallows,” he said to Keith’s horror. “A few a day is what Allura said.”

With a reluctant sigh Keith did as he was told. It was barely any effort at all, but still his muscles burned with fatigue by the time Shiro put the bottle away. The excess heat had fled from his skin, leaving him shivering against Shiro’s side, and with a small sound of concern Shiro tugged the blankets back over his shoulders. 

“Do you wanna go back to sleep?”

Keith stared out the window across from him and chose to ignore the question. 

“Where are we going?”

There was a grimace in Shiro’s voice when he answered. “Nowhere in particular. Just… away.”

Matt’s eyes flicked up to the mirror for a moment, then back to the road. 

“We’re running?”

“We had to.” Keith allowed Shiro to pull him in and lean against his shoulder. “We should’ve run before, as soon as we knew they were there. My decision to stay put got you hurt. I’m sorry.”

Keith shook his head. His eyelids were beginning to sag again, despite the way he could feel his wolf itching in impatience for the full moon. 

“‘S not your fault, Shiro.” A yawn split his jaw, and he laid back down, his head in Shiro’s lap. His hand returning to Keith’s hair almost put him back to sleep right then. “You did your best.”

Shiro’s scent changed from clear rain to heavy damp, an indicator of his guilt. Keith understood why. Shiro was the leader, and he thought it was his responsibility alone to keep the pack safe. 

“You’re still a good leader,” Keith mumbled, just as he faded off into sleep.

* * *

 

They made a few stops throughout the day for food and bathroom breaks. Despite these small delays they still reached the campground before sundown-- a little circle of hard packed dirt branching off from the road, encircled by thin, dry pine trees-- and thankfully it was empty. 

Shiro was anxious as they began preparations. Full moons were stressful to begin with, having to keep track of everyone and make sure they stayed safe while struggling to keep his own wolf instincts in check. Tonight would be even worse in an unfamiliar place with the threat of hunters at their backs and Keith being sick. And the next day they would be exhausted, and they probably didn’t have enough food to sate them all after the calorie-burning marathon of turning. 

“Dude,” said Matt, knocking him out of his reverie, “chill. I can smell you stressing from over here.”

Shiro winced. The two of them were trying their best to turn the van into a replacement den from them to retreat to at sunrise, which by no means was an easy task, and here Shiro was making it even harder. 

“Sorry.”

Matt frowned, a low rumble rolling out of his chest as he patted down the blanket he’d been arranging. The sound made Shiro’s shoulders lose a little tension. 

“We’re gonna be fine,” Matt murmured. “Keith is already getting better.”

Shiro glanced over at the others. Lance and Pidge had gone into the sparse forest to scout it out, leaving Hunk to sit with Keith, still wrapped in one of the blankets. He’d woken up a few times since that morning, managing to stay conscious longer each time. This time he was going on half an hour. 

Shiro wasn’t sure if he was actually getting better or if the encroaching moon was just making him antsy, but he didn’t say that to Matt.

“Yeah. You’re right.”

The minutes ticked on. By the time they finished their makeshift blanket pile and Lance and Pidge had returned, Shiro could feel his skin itching as fur threatened to break through. Moonrise was approaching-- fast. 

“We’re good to go,” said Pidge, pushing up the sleeves on her oversized hoodie. “It starts sloping downhill in a few hundred feet, so within about half a mile you can’t see the road anymore.”

Shiro nodded in her direction. “Ok, let’s move guys. We’re going to want to be out of sight of the road when the moon comes up.” He moved over to where Hunk was sitting with Keith and crouched, preparing to carry him again, but to his surprise Keith batted at his hands and pushed him away. 

“Wanna walk,” he grumbled petulantly, and Shiro bit back a sigh. Keith was the only one of them who’d been born this way instead of turned-- the full moon always hit him earlier and harder, and already the whites of his eyes were beginning to glint gold. Which would explain the trouble he was having with forming words, but the restlessness and need to prove himself and not be a burden was all Keith. 

He sat back on his heels. “Can you?”

With a huff, Keith tossed the blanket away from his legs and planted his hands on the asphalt to lever himself up. Shockingly enough he made it to standing, but almost immediately began to list, forcing Shiro to leap to his feet to steady him. 

“Keith--” he began, only for Keith to shake his head vehemently. 

“I can walk!” he insisted again. Shiro let the sigh out this time, and over Keith’s head received a sympathetic look from Hunk. 

“Fine, but you lean on me, ok?”

“Ok.”

Hunk stood up and wrapped the discarded blanket back around Keith’s shoulders, which thankfully he didn’t argue against, and after making sure the van was locked and everyone was in the clothes big enough not to tear when they turned, they headed off into the woods. 

Pidge sprang to the head of the column, calling, “We saw a good spot earlier, follow me!” That was easier said than done, as Pidge was one of them who tended to turn into the Energizer bunny on full moons, and Shiro kept having to call her back so that they could keep up. She wasn’t the only one showing signs, either; Hunk stuck close, walking on the other side of Keith like a protective shield, Lance’s head turned at every rustle of a leaf or snap of a branch, and Matt was making subtle circles around the edges of the pack, scouting for threats.

Keith was struggling. He wanted to run, Shiro could tell, but if he stepped too fast his knees would wobble and threaten to dump him to the ground. He was reining himself in for now, but Shiro knew that as soon as the moon was up he’d be a pain to deal with. 

As for Shiro? He wanted to snap. 

He was beginning to feel the pinpricks of fur all over-- it made him itchy and irritable, and he barely kept himself from snapping at Pidge to stay closer or just slinging Keith over his shoulder for the rest of the journey. But he did it, he kept his wolf contained, and when they reached the tiny clearing Pidge had been leading them to they still had a few minutes of sunlight left. 

The pack clustered around him as he surveyed the area. Normally they would’ve already scattered-- Pidge and Keith to run off their bursts of energy, Lance and Hunk to find somewhere comfy to lounge (until Keith came back looking for a play fight), and Matt and Shiro checking over the territory and making sure everyone was safe. 

Now, with the threat of the hunters hanging over their heads, everyone was tense and clumped close together, even as Pidge practically vibrated with the urge to dash off somewhere. 

Shiro let out a breath and pushed his hair back before figuring out what he wanted to say. The words were beginning to jumble together in his head, a sure sign that they didn’t have long before they turned.

“Alright, guys, new rules.” Nobody groaned or whined. Even Lance wasn’t in the mood to crack a joke. “You can run if you want, but don’t go further than a few miles and not towards the road. Check in every hour. Everyone meet back here at moondown.”

Numerous nods were his answer, and though a bit reluctantly with a tinge of anxiety in the air, the group dispersed. Pidge trotted off into the woods and within a few seconds was gone, only her scent remaining to ease Shiro’s anxiety. Lance and Hunk, ever the dynamic duo, did their best to make a comfortable spot under one of the trees for them to settle down in. Matt was doing circles again. 

Shiro pulled Keith over to a large, sturdy looking tree, in a position where he could see everyone in the small clearing without moving. He sat at its base and pulled Keith down to sit in front of him, back to chest with his blanket still wrapped around his shoulders. 

Overkill? Maybe. But Shiro didn’t trust him not to try and dash off when he turned, and didn’t trust himself to keep him in place any other way without claws getting involved. 

For now, at least, Keith seemed calm enough. He fidgeted a little in Shiro’s hold but didn’t try to break away, and tilted his head back against Shiro’s shoulder, letting his eyes fall closed. His scent still had the sickly touch of wolfsbane in it, though thankfully not nearly as strong as the day before. Shiro rested his cheek on the crown of Keith’s head and silently thanked every god that he knew of that Allura had known what to do. 

Lost in his thoughts Shiro didn’t notice the light growing ever dimmer. He only caught the barest glint of silver over the horizon, filtering between the trees, before his wolf surged up in his chest.

God, he hated turning. The strands of fur breaking skin felt like reverse acupuncture (bad acupuncture), his lengthened teeth were always too big for his mouth, the claws made him feel like Edward Scissorhands, and the whole process made his muscles ache like he’d been at the gym for eight hours straight. 

Usually he’d get a few minutes to compose himself, to fight back the wolf instincts enough to think straight before having to worry about anything else. But today the moment the changes began to slow he was busy trying to hang on to Keith, who’d gotten his usual surge of energy and was now fighting Shiro’s hold on him with everything he had.

Shiro tightened his grip, squeezing Keith’s body between his arms and his legs and somehow managing to keep him in place. Keith let out a plaintive whine. Shiro growled, and in answer Keith tilted his head back, exposing more of his throat in submission even as his muscles trembled with the urge to bolt. 

Shiro rumbled to him and gave an apologetic nuzzle, words as always failing to make it from his brain to his mouth. The fine black fur that had pushed its way through his skin slid pleasantly over Keith’s, which was much the same color, except for the patches of auburn it was usually too dark to see. 

A few pairs of eyes gleamed gold in the shadows. Moments later the rest of the pack emerged from the darkness, all completely turned, and formed a protective circle around the two of them. The only one absent was Pidge, who probably had to run a few miles before she could sit still. Normally Matt would’ve gone off with Pidge or picked somewhere new to explore, and Hunk and Lance would play fight or find somewhere to sleep. But tonight was different; Shiro could feel the agitation radiating off from all of them as they huddled together against the encroaching night.

They were afraid, his senses told him. Matt, pacing back and forth around their tree; Lance, leaning up against Shiro’s knee with a protective arm around Keith; and Hunk, hunkered down on Shiro’s other side facing outward-- they were all fearing the worst, for the remaining hunters to attack.

It was barely half an hour before Pidge came back. She was more skittish than Shiro had ever seen her, every rustling leaf and snapped twig making her jump to attention, and she kept darting out of the clearing, probably to do a quick perimeter, before coming back in.Then she’d check on Keith, make sure everyone was still there, and then be gone again. 

But despite all their fears, the night was passing quietly. Keith fidgeted for a couple of hours before nodding off, still in Shiro’s embrace. Matt’s pacing slowed and eventually came to a stop. Hunk fell asleep and began to snore, and though the noise made Shiro’s fur stand on end, it didn’t seem to be drawing in any threats. Lance hadn’t moved in a while (Shiro assumed he’d fallen asleep too), and Pidge was lingering longer and longer between perimeter checks. 

Shiro resigned himself to staying awake and rested his head atop Keith’s, watching the moon as it traversed the sky. He didn’t dare let his guard slip until the sun rose again. 

Eventually even Pidge slunk back to the group and curled up beside the still form of her brother, the urges to move overpowered by the fear that was lacing all of their scents. Second by second the night unraveled around them, and there they stayed until morning light.

* * *

 

When Shiro first awoke he couldn’t quite remember returning to the van. But they must have at some point after dawn, as here he was, blinking away the early afternoon sunlight that had come through one of the windows and woken him up. 

Everything seemed calm. All of the doors were locked, and the mound of sleeping bodies sprawled over the blanket-covered, turned down seats had the right number of heads and limbs. He double checked that Keith was still there (he was, serving as the middle person pressed between Hunk and Pidge), then as carefully as he could clambered out of the van. 

They still had the entire campsite to themselves, and there were no tracks in the dirt to indicate anyone else had been there. It looked to be about one p.m., and Shiro stood for a moment in the sunlight, soaking up the warmth and breathing deeply of the pine scented air. Somewhere nearby a bird was chirping, the peaks of some faraway mountains sparkled with snow, and the passing clouds cast gentle shadows on the ground. 

In a word, idyllic. For a few moments he forgot why they were here and what they were running from. 

Then he heard the old van creak a bit as someone shifted inside, and everything came crashing back down. 

There was a slide of a door, then Matt’s voice spoke from behind him, mumbling, “What time is it?” in a way that echoed Keith’s same question from the day before.

Shiro forced out a chuckle and answered, “About one, I think.”

Matt finished climbing out and closed the door behind him. His clothes were rumpled and his hair wild from sleep, and he rubbed at his eyes as he made his way over to where Shiro was standing. 

“So… once we get far enough away… what’s the plan?”

He tried not to visibly grimace. Honestly, he had no idea what they were going to do. He wasn’t even sure how far they’d have to go before they stopped looking over their shoulders, and all of the things they’d just cut and run out on in their old life would come back to haunt them. Hell, short of creating entirely new identities for all of them, he couldn’t see any way to get around the suddenly dropped jobs and schooling and the lease on their apartment. 

Matt must’ve been able to smell his apprehension, as he let out a quiet, concerned sound and put his hand on Shiro’s shoulder.

“We’ll figure it out as we go, yeah?”

Shiro’s lip quirked in an almost-smile. 

“Yeah. As we go.”

* * *

 

By day three Shiro was beginning to regret that decision. They’d made it a fair distance after the full moon, but all of them were still anxious, and Shiro wasn’t sure if he wanted to call it good yet or not. But the longer they drove, the further they went, the more their small store of money and supplies dwindled. He had to make a choice about stopping, and soon, before they wound up stranded. 

At four p.m. they took their third stop of the day, rolling up the middle-of-nowhere gas station and pouring out of the van in a stilted, stumbling wave of bodies that hadn’t moved nearly as much as they were accustomed to. 

Thanks to Allura’s medicine Keith was doing much better, now able to stay awake for much longer and move around on his own. Of course that came with a downside-- he was even more fidgety than Pidge and Lance, and keeping him cooped up in the van was making him snappy and irritable. Which made Lance snappy and irritable, and every couple of hours Shiro had to mediate another tiny spat that blew out of proportion because they didn’t have anything better to do. 

Today Keith was barely tolerating Shiro’s hovering. This time when they stopped, he didn’t even wait for anyone to say anything before announcing he was going to the restroom and vacated the van like it was on fire, leaving a mix of chocolate and smoke in his wake. Shiro merely sighed and got out to fill up the van, distributing cash to the others for snacks, and watched as they scurried into the store. 

They’d long since left the forested regions of the country, and now were driving through some kind of mix of grassland and desert. The grass was tall and yellow, dotted with trees that barely qualified as trees instead of stumpy bushes, and every so often there would be a break in the ground, black rock forming mesas. Not quite as pretty as the forest had been, but all the same Shiro appreciated the moment of fresh air and blessed quiet he got as he filled the tank. 

It didn’t last long. He’d just closed the gas hatch when Pidge came back from the store, tossing him a Dr. Pepper before getting back in the van. He leaned against the side of the car and sipped at it as the others returned. 

Matt, carrying at least three packets of beef jerky. 

Lance, armed with a Powerade and a bag of sour gummy candy. 

Hunk, a dejected expression on his face as he attempted to make the gas station hotdog more appealing with the small packets of ketchup and mustard.

He waited, waited, and waited some more, but by the time he was half way through his soda Keith still hadn’t reappared. 

Shiro’s stomach was twirling. He made himself stay still, figuring he was just being paranoid, until the window next to him rolled down and Lance stuck his head out with an irritated face.

“What the hell’s taking Mullet so long?”

Shivers ran down Shiro’s spine. 

“I’m not sure. I’ll go look for him.”

“Well sprinkle some  ándale on that shit, I’d like to sleep in an actual bed tonight.”

Trying to stave off trepidation, Shiro plopped his soda into the drivers seat and followed the dirt path around to the back of the gas station, where the outdoor restrooms were. As expected they were pretty disgusting looking (and smelling), and Shiro held his breath as he approached the mens room door and and rapped on it.

“Keith? You in there?”

No response. Shiro gave it barely a minute before testing the door, and finding it unlocked, peeked inside. It was empty.

Keith was gone. 

Again.

* * *

 

“Their Burdens have been lifted.”

The words echoed in Acxa’s mind. Zethrid said the phrase gave her comfort, but she wasn’t finding the same. In fact, as the larger woman manhandled the unconscious wolf into their (stolen) car, she felt like her Burden had never been heavier. 

And as they drove away, in the opposite direction of the lonely highway gas station, she tried to puzzle out this strange mood that had taken over since the death of the others. 

She’d lost comrades before. That wasn’t new. And she couldn’t say she really mourned Lotor, either. Narti she missed, but Lotor had been a conniving zealot. So why did she feel so… heavy?

Her eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. The wolf was still where they’d left him, bound and laid out across the back seat, blood leaking from his temple where Zethrid had clocked him. He still seemed pale from the wolfsbane they’d pumped into him last time. 

Zethrid was practically vibrating with excitement. For the last few days, as they tracked the pack, all she could talk about was getting revenge. 

“You saw the way they fought for him,” she’d said as they drove, a wild light in her eyes, “and the best way to hurt a pack is to take one of them down. Two birds with one stone.” Then she’d laugh, slightly manic, and Acxa would say nothing. She remembered the fight too, but it didn’t fill her with the same rage and eagerness that it did for Zethrid. 

Her experience with killing wolves has always been rather… detached. Usually they did it when the pack was turned-- more powerful, but less ready to think of a battle plan and easy to defeat with some forethought. It always seemed more like killing animals than anything else.

But that last battle haunted her thoughts. 

She shook her head and focused back on the road. Now was no time to be having doubts-- the wolves were abominations, she knew that, she’d been taught that her whole life, and seeing one pack be protective of each other couldn’t change that. 

She turned at a dirt road about five miles from the gas station. It would take them a good distance from the road, where the car wouldn’t be spotted when they dumped it, and from there they could go on foot to where she and Zethrid had hidden their tools. 

The bumps and jolts of the road woke the wolf, who stirred and groaned in pain. Zethrid gave a sharp grin. Acxa felt a little sick and blamed it on the road. 

The groan cut off abruptly. Zethrid twisted around in her seat, and in a sickly voice, crooned, “Look who’s awake.” It sounded like she was trying to imitate the way Ezor always taunted their captives, but coming from her husky voice it just sounded wrong. The wolf growled in response, and Zethrid teased back, and for the rest of the drive Acxa was able to forget that the person in the backseat was a person. 

The illusion was shattered when they finally pulled to the side of the road and stopped. Acxa left the keys in the vehicle when she climbed out, and Zethrid opened the back door to haul the wolf out into the dirt. 

He snarled and snapped at them, struggling against his bindings, but Zethrid only laughed. Acxa made the mistake of looking into his eyes, only to quickly look away when she registered the fear in them. 

“Come on,” she ordered brusquely, not looking at either of them. “Let’s get moving.”

Still chuckling, Zethrid knelt and tossed the thrashing form over her shoulder. Acxa led the way into the sparse trees, and for the first five or so minutes of the hike everything was quiet, except for the huffed breaths of the wolf. 

Then Zethrid snapped, “Quit squirming, mutt, or I’ll give you something to squirm about.”

“Fuck you!” cried the wolf. “I’ll fucking gut you, fight me fair and we’ll see who wins, fucking cowards--”

“That’s it!” 

There was a thump and the crunch of dead leaves. Acxa spun on her heel just in time to watch Zethrid grab a handful of the wolf’s hair and slam his head into a tree trunk, giving him another bleeding head wound to join the first. Dazed from the strike the wolf said nothing more, and Acxa winced at the look on his face when Zethrid hauled him back up.

“There,” she said, smugly, “that shut him up.”

Acxa just turned and kept going, trying to ignore how her gut twisted. 

_ It’s just a wolf,  _ she told herself as she walked,  _ they’re vicious, inhuman, you know that.  _ She knew that. So why couldn’t she look at this one and believe it?

A few minutes later they arrived at the chosen spot. A tiny clearing amongst a ring of low, thick shrubbery, just large enough to hold the three of them. Zethrid dropped the wolf to the dusty ground without ceremony and went with undisguised glee to the bush where they’d stashed their pile of silver utensils. The wolf lay where he was dropped, blinking laboriously. Zethrid had probably given him a concussion with that last strike. 

She told herself it was a good thing. Less capable of fighting that way. 

“Which one should we start with?” Zethrid called to her, unable to hide the excitement in her voice. “I wanna hear him scream.”

She shook her head, combing her short hair back with her fingers. “We probably shouldn’t go too noisy right away. His pack is still relatively nearby, they might hear him.”

Zethrid gave a disappointed frown, but after a moment shrugged. “I guess you’re right. Here, you can have the honors.”

She tossed her a short iron rod, crowned with silver plating. Acxa caught it easily and turned to the wolf, forcing herself not to react when he flinched on her approach. 

_ He’s a wolf,  _ she thought,  _ he deserves it. All those beasts deserve it.  _

Kneeling at the bound wolf’s side, she yanked his shirt up with one hand, exposing his ribs, and before she could waver or talk herself out of it, pressed the silver end of the rod to the pale skin. 

He  _ shrieked,  _ a shrill tone that made Zethrid wince, and writhed on the ground in a vain attempt to escape. Acxa only held it there for a few seconds before pulling away, and once the metal was gone the scream dissipated into a series of strained whimpers. 

“Geez,” Zethrid muttered in the background, “I thought you said we’d go easy on him.”

Acxa gritted her teeth and forced out the words that had been haunting her for days. 

“That was for Narti.”

The wolf didn’t give any indication that he’d heard, but Acxa felt a little better nonetheless. He was crying, the tears darkening the sand under his cheek and his eyes wrenched shut, and despite the sickly sweet rush of vindication that had come with the scream, she was beginning to feel her throat tightening again. 

She straightened up and passed the rod to Zethrid. 

With a cruel grin, she took it and moved to the prone body, pushing him from his side onto his back with one foot. She pressed it onto his belly, holding him down with her foot on his chest, and pressed the brand to his skin for thirty full seconds. 

After she pulled it back, and the wolf’s cries had returned to sobbing, she inspected the marks with bland disinterest. They were only about the size of a dollar coin, which clearly didn’t please her. 

“Acxa, you should use the symbol this time.”

That inexplicable pity rose up in her chest, but she quashed it and returned to the bush to fetch the tool. It looked kind of like a cookie cutter in the shape of the mark of their order, which looked like a jagged upside down U. An ancient rune from the language of the original hunters. 

Back at the torture site, she tried to ignore how the wolf was still struggling and detached from her emotions as she considered where to put the brand. After a moment she pushed him back over, this time facing into the dirt, and wolf gave a pitiful cry at the grit pressing into the burn.

There. One of his hands had a healing mark on the palm, the remnants of Lotor’s test. 

It was only right for the other hand to match. 

The sigil was barely small enough to fit on his palm, and Zethrid had to hold his hand open while she did it. The sound he made gnawed at her brain. She could only manage to press it for a few seconds before backing off. 

Zethrid’s turn again. She chose a different brand, one with a wide base that narrowed and curved left until it reached a point. Acxa held his jaw shut and his head pinned down while Zethrid burned the mark onto his right cheek. 

“And that,” spat Zethrid as he writhed in the dirt and cried, “was for Ezor.”

“I didn’t do anything,” he choked out pitifully, “I didn’t hurt anybody, we never hurt anybody.”

Anger reared in Acxa’s chest, strangling the pity, and she snapped, “Don’t play innocent. You’re the one who bit Narti.”

“Her  _ arm, _ I bit her  _ arm,  _ I didn’t kill her--”

“No, you did worse,” answered Zethrid, standing to give him a kick in the ribs. “You and your stupid pack made Narti and Ezor choose between their life and their humanity.”

The wolf could only say, “I didn’t kill her, I didn’t kill her,” on a loop like scratched record. 

“You killed Lotor,” said Acxa, but it sounded hollow. She didn’t really care about Lotor, but the wolf didn’t know that. “And Narti and Ezor--”

“You killed them!”

Cold washed down Acxa’s arms.

“What?” snarled Zethrid.

“You-- you’re the ones who killed them,” the wolf sobbed. His eyes were open now, and though red and watery and shining gold, the glare in them could’ve broken glass. “You’re the ones who decided that being one of us was worse than dying.”

“That’s because it is!” Zethrid argued. She waved the brand angrily over her head, making the wolf flinch. “You’re monsters, no better than beasts!”

He merely shook his head, and Zethrid shot a furious look in her direction. Expecting Acxa to back her up. And though her tongue felt too big for her mouth, she tried. 

“You wolves killed my parents.” 

“And hunters killed mine!”

Acxa opened her mouth, ready to argue that their death was justified even as something in her stomach soured at the thought, but he wasn’t done yet. 

“He wasn’t even one,” he sobbed through heaving, stuttered breaths. “He wasn’t even one of us and they killed him. They killed him anyway.”

All at once Acxa felt sick. The heat of the sun on the back of her neck, the smell of burnt hair and flesh in the air, the rage making her hands shake-- she couldn’t take it anymore. She couldn’t be here anymore. She had to get away. 

“I need a moment,” she blurted out, then stumbled out of the circle of bushes without daring to look back. She wandered in a random direction, managing to make it about three hundred yards before collapsing to her knees and retching into the brush. 

God, what was  _ wrong  _ with her? She’d always been so strong before this, she’d never hesitated before, never been squeamish about torture and interrogation and killing, but this one stupid wolf was unraveling all her years of training in minutes. 

Another scream pierced the air. Zethrid had apparently taken it upon herself to continue their revenge. Acxa covered her ears. 

For the first time ever, Acxa considered the idea that the Burden was too much. She couldn’t carry it any longer. 

The scream died away, and just afterwards she caught a rustle in the grass. Her eyes automatically snapped to the sound, and though it was difficult to tell amongst the half-dead yellow grass, she was certain she’d just seen a glimpse of golden eyes. 

She got to her feet. 

“I know you’re there.”

The wind howled mournfully. Or had that been the wolf? She wasn’t sure anymore. 

“I won’t… I won’t stop you. Just don’t hurt Zeth. Please.”

The eyes reappeared. After a moment of watching, they slowly rose, until a shape emerged from the brush. The eyes belonged to the leader of the pack, the one who had killed Lotor. She remembered that face, making the same expression: angry protectiveness. 

“Why should I do anything for you?” he asked, a growl hidden in his words. 

“I don’t know.” It was in a whisper, but she had to hope that he’d heard it anyway. He watched her for a few more seconds, then turned away without a word.

* * *

 

They knocked the other hunter unconscious. Pidge wanted to rip her throat out, but reluctantly Shiro had stopped her. He hadn’t technically made any promises, but it still felt like the right thing to do. 

Besides, he didn’t want to spare another second of his thoughts for them. Keith was the one who deserved his attention, not the monsters who hurt him. And Keith needed that attention-- he’d taken two hits to the head, probably had a concussion, and had no fewer than five silver burns maring his skin, which was pale and clammy. Shiro was astounded he was still conscious. 

Shiro pillowed his head in his lap after he’d been unbound. Hunk, the only one with enough sense to grab the first aid kit, applied soothing cream and bandages to the burns, even as his eyes shone with tears. Matt held Keith’s right hand, and Pidge his left; Lance scoured the area for any more traps or lurking hunters. 

Shiro ran his fingers through Keith’s hair, letting out a calming rumble, and every so often gently brushing tears away before they could run into the burn on his cheek. They would scar, and somewhere inside he was white-out furious, especially at the one that looked like a symbol of some kind, but for the moment it was being smothered by his wolf’s need to care for his pack.

Keith mumbled his name. His eyes watered at the pull on the burn.

“I’m here, Keith,” he said softly. “We’re all right here.”

Lance padded over and knelt beside Pidge. His smile was tremulous. “Jeez mullet, they really did a number on you, didn’t they?”

“I don’t know why,” was Keith’s answer, and Lance’s joking expression crumbled. “Why do they hate us so much? We never d-did anything to them.”

The whole pack turned to look at him, but Shiro had no idea what to say. What could he say to something like that, when he didn’t know the answer himself?

So instead he said, “It’s ok. They’re gone. We’re all gonna be ok.”

And he even half believed it.

* * *

 

Acxa watched from the brush when the wolves left, the leader in front, carrying a blurry shape that she recognized as their captive. 

No. Not a captive. Not a wolf. His name was Keith. 

Once all six of them had disappeared, following the wooded trail back to the dirt road they’d inevitably tracked the hunters to, Acxa stood up. She should go back to help Zethrid, see if the wolf leader had listened to her plea. If he had, he would be far more merciful than any hunter would ever be. 

She didn’t know what she would do afterwards or how Zethrid would react. Probably not well. Despite that she felt… light. Hopeful. 

Her Burden had been lifted. 


End file.
